Reflections
by in-prose
Summary: Etta is awake in the middle of the night and shares a quiet moment with her mother, where neither of them really knows what to do.
1. Etta

Title: Reflections

Spoilers: All Episodes are fair game, but it takes place between 501 and 502

Summary: Etta is awake in the middle of the night and shares a quiet moment with her mother.

Disclaimer: These are not my characters; I just play with them. No copyright infringement intended.

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Reflections

There was the sound of a car outside. The headlights illuminated the wall for a few seconds through the gap in the curtains. Etta got up from her perch at the edge of her bed and moved into the other room. The window there had a more direct view of the street. She carefully tiptoed around the maze of mattresses in the darkness.

She flicked up a single row of the venetian blinds and watched as a mother and father loaded two sleepy children and suitcases into a minivan. In certain circles, the disappearance of that building a few weeks ago had acted as a signal. The old channels started to chatter. The word was spreading. The Bishops were back. There was energy in the listless people. You had to know it was there. The Bishops were back. Somehow they had come back from the grave and were ready to fight. The Bishops had provided a spark.

Big things were happening. Battles would be won; they would be lost. People would make sacrifices. There would be progress for the first time in over a decade. And almost no one knew.

Everyone knew that building had disappeared, but strange things like that happened now. 'It was an abandon building,' said the native news. 'It was a planned demolition,' they said. 'An accident had caused the implosion to occur a head of schedule, but no one was hurt. That's what was important.' On the surface, most people seemed to accept what was said on the news. It was safer.

Certain people had heard the message as a warning. She created a story for this family quietly slipping away at two o'clock in the morning. They'd been involved in the rebellion last time. When the Bishops vanished, the cause had lost its rallying point and the genius behind the movement. The fighting continued, but the rebellion began to lose worst and worst each time. Finally, most people began acting as if they believed the news whether they were home or in public.

The kids in the minivan were little. The oldest looked about six. They had never known what life was like before. The parents weren't willing to risk their children. They were getting out of town on the warning from the father's old contacts.

She had no basis for any of this. It was just a game she played in her own head. She'd always been very good at reading people. It didn't matter to her what their real story was. Whoever they were and where they were going was not her concern. The minivan was harmless. Their hideout had not been discovered.

Etta let the blind fall back into place with a small tap. She glanced around the room. The street lamp just outside the window illuminated some of the room through the cheap blinds.

For her salary, she'd found a great apartment. Well, the location was kind of crap. There'd been a fire strike in area about a decade ago and like most places the damage was never really fixed. Not entirely anyway. She was on the edge of the burned section. Three blocks in one direction took her to a living part of the city; six blocks in the opposite direction took her to the blackened shell.

The repairs in the buildings around her were kept up just enough to pass code. That meant there was electricity but she blow a fuse once a week. The paint was peeling. The floorboards complained. The appliances were out of date. Then, Etta added sparse furnishings and the place looked nearly abandoned. But she kept it clean. And it was hers.

She wasn't alone tonight, though. Four other people slept in her little apartment. She knew Walter was sprawled on the couch. She could hear him snoring and mumbling a little. There were two cots pushed against the wall and an inflatable mattress on the floor. Peter—Dad—and Agent Farnsworth were on the cots and her mother was on the mattress. Etta felt a little guilty that she didn't have more to offer, especially for Olivia—Mom. She'd only been released from the amber yesterday. Being trapped for twenty years must have been exhausting because Olivia—Mom—had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had come back to the apartment with Walter. The others had talked about the next day in whispers.

Olivia needed to sleep. They needed to let her sleep. But there a very big part of Etta that just wanted to be with her mommy, like she had so many times over the passed twenty years.

The underground movement might only cared about the Bishops as a means to an end. No one else cared that a girl was able to see her parents for the first time in twenty years. No one else cared Etta hadn't been able to remember her parents' face and now she could speak to them, be hugged by them, fight along side them. She said the words mom and dad. This was her rebellion; her reason to keep fighting; her spark. The Observers thought they had taken everything from her and they had been wrong.

She knew plenty of people who had lived through worse than she had. Like so many other kids, she had ended up in the foster system. She'd finally found a place with good people. But she had always been an orphan. She'd found a way to get in touch with Nina when she joined the Fringe Academy; she'd found someone to keep an eye out for her even if that someone publicly had to pretend to have nothing but distain. But Etta had still been an orphan. Until now. In the space of day, she had found the pieces of what her life should have been like and she was still reeling.

Now, she was really fighting for the first time. She'd rescued her mom yesterday. And she was watching over her mom. She was letting her mom rest. She felt important, like a little kid helping to bake cookies.

Etta leaned against the wall, still staring her mother. Olivia sighed in her sleep.

Etta couldn't actually remember helping in the kitchen. She'd been taken care of, but she had never stopped looking for her parents' faces at her birthday, at Christmas, at a graduation even when she couldn't remember what they looked like. She missed dinners at home with everyone around the kitchen table. These were the things that had been taken from her when the Observers forced the disappearance of her parents. This was what she wanted back.

She could see Olivia's face now. She was frowning in her sleep. She tilted her head to look at her mom's face better. She really studied it. She'd been trying not to stare all day. She gave in now, knowing she couldn't get caught. Her round face, her nose, her thin mouth, her blonde hair, it was all right here. It was strange see the echoes of her own face. Although, really, her face was an echo of her mother's.

She came from this woman. It was such a bizarre thought. Most people are used to this idea. To be genetically related to your family is supposed to normal, but it have never been that way in Etta's memory. Everything that she is was because of the man and woman sleeping in her living room.

She hated that this was a novelty; she hated that she was twenty-five years old and only just learn who her parents were. She was just wanted everything to be normal. She was the Invaders gone and to gave grown up with her parents. To have them kiss her, tuck into bed, yell at her for not brushing her teeth or doing her homework or trying to sneak out. She wanted them to be proud. She had so much she wanted to tell her parents; she many questions she wanted to ask.

Etta sighed. She was wishing on stars. She peeked through the window one last time. Everything was quiet again. She went back to her room and still left the door open so she could see the three sleeping figures and took up her post again. This was stupid. She didn't need to be keeping a vigil. She felt like if she blinked, they would be gone and she would have missed her chance. Again.

The refrigerator kicked on making Etta jump. She wasn't the only one who heard the slight sound in the deafening silence. In the next room, Olivia also jerked awake. Etta saw her thrash around and heard her mother's heavy breathing.

Etta felt a tingle run up her spine like she had been caught doing something wrong. She threw herself back onto her bed, flipped over onto her stomach, and tried to pretend to be sleeping.

Olivia hadn't seen her. She wouldn't know that Etta had just been staring at her. Olivia would just roll over and go back to sleep. Still, Etta squeezed her eyes shut and slowly pulled the sheet over her legs to set the scene better.

Olivia did not go right back to sleep. She got up. Etta heard the creaking mattress and her mom's footsteps on the bare floor. The sink in the bathroom turned on. It turned off. She heard the footsteps again. Etta could see her mom moving around her apartment in her mind. She didn't hear the mattress again.

Etta opened one eye. Olivia was standing in the doorway. She didn't move.

Etta opened both her eyes and lifted her head a little. "Is everything okay?" Her voice was steady, not at all like she'd been asleep moments ago

"You used to do that when you were little," said her mom.

"What?"

"Pretend to be asleep. It was usually when you want to be carried in from the car."

Etta held her breath. She had so many things that she wanted to say that her mind mostly filled with a blank buzzing when she wasn't talking to her parents about something very specific.

Olivia took a small step forward and then stopped. She opened her month and then closed it again.

"Do you need anything?" asked Etta.

This time Olivia didn't answer. She seemed to make some sort of decision and then crossed into the bedroom properly. Very, very carefully she let her weight down onto the mattress. The bed hardly moved. She gingerly lay down. She was on her side facing Etta with an arm under her head on the pillow and her knees tucked against her torso.

Etta rolled over and unconsciously mirrored her mom's position. She was close enough to able to see her mom's chest rise as she took a breath. And still she wanted to be closer. She wanted to be hugged and cuddled and kissed on the forehead. She wanted to go back in time, be a little girl again and do it all again.

Hot tears burned in her eyes. This was a feeling that she had fought against for twenty years. She didn't let herself thinking it. You can't have it. It's gone. Fight so others can have it, but know you've missed you chance. She said it to herself over and over and over again. Etta closed her eyes as a few tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks.

Her mother said nothing, but with back of her fingers brushed the tears away. The adrenaline was gone. They had had this intense moment—their reunion after twenty years—but now they had to get to know each other. Olivia's touch was hesitant and Etta felt it after the contact was broken.

"Look at you," said Olivia in a whisper. "I want to see you as a child. I want to call you baby girl and tuck you into bed."

Etta shrugged. "You still can."

"No, I can't because you are all grown up and I am so proud of you."

Etta smiled and felt tears welling up again. It was like her mom was reading her mind and saying exactly what she had wanted to hear for so many years.

"Don't be sad," she hesitated and then added, "baby girl."

Etta took a deep breath. "I'm not sad. I'm happy. I've wanted this for such a long time."

Olivia closed her eyes as if she wanted to look away, to turn her head and not face whatever thought had just run through her mind. Etta wished she could read her mom the way she could read most people. She normally would have had some idea of what she was thinking. Or at least could guess.

"Henrietta, I am so sorry," Olivia said, opening her eyes again.

"For what?"

"For abandoning you. For letting you grow up alone. For letting you get dragged into all this. For everything. This was my greatest fear; the thought that kept me up at night even while I was pregnant with you."

Etta's stomach did a flip at the word pregnant. Again, she was stuck by the idea that she came from this woman.

"Do I wish it had been different? Of course. But it was no way your fault. I never blamed you or Dad. It's them, the Observers. They're the ones who took everything."

"It's still my nightmare."

"It doesn't matter now. And besides, I turned out all right. Didn't I?"

"You did," she said quietly.

They didn't speak for a long time. They were just still in the darkness. Etta felt her eyes getting heavy and they became to close. She could feel the slope of the bed under the weight of her mother, just a foot away. It filled her with a sense of security even though it shouldn't. Etta was never in a more dangerous position. They had had Walter. They could know exactly who she was; they could be on their way here right now. She was about to try and end a war. Everything was happening so quickly and she was in the middle of it. She should be able to feel the spinning.

Instead, she felt calm. She felt that things were going to get better. She felt safe. Or it was what she guessed was safety. She had not experienced that sensation enough times in her life to give it a name. Etta was falling gently asleep because she knew her mother was watching over her.

The mattress shifted. Olivia pushed away and put her feet on the floor.

"Mama, where are you going? You can sleep here. It's better than the floor. I don't care."

Her back was to Etta. "I won't actually get any sleep. I should…" she didn't finish her sentence.

Etta sat up. "Please, don't. Can we just talk? There's so much time to catch up on."

"Tomorrow. I promise. I'm still exhausted." She got up and looked down at Etta. "Good night, baby girl."

Olivia started to walk away.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Etta before she could stop the part of herself that was still very much a child from speaking.

Olivia breathed in sharply. "No, absolutely not. I just so tired and if I stay in here I'm not going to be able close my eyes because I can't get over how beautiful you are."

She left the bedroom. Etta stayed where she was, staring into the half-light at the place where her mother's figure had been. The tears had dried. She wasn't a child anymore. She couldn't expect her mommy to take care of her. Time can't go backwards.

Etta flopped back onto her pillow and stared up at the chipped ceiling. She wasn't a kid, but it still stung like a paper cut, a pain disproportional to the mark left behind. She didn't know what to say. She had immediately been able to talk to her dad. She understood Daddy's little girl for the first time. They had talked about the next move, the next step; it had been easy. She'd looked at her mom and had a thousand questions and things she wanted to her about and couldn't find the words to start. She had imagined meeting her parents almost every night as she fell asleep; it was her version of counting sheep. And in all that time she had never been able to actually decided what she would do if she saw her parents again. It wasn't this.

Although, Etta had never been good at these kind of quiet moments. She was a girl of action, a war baby conditioned to fight. The Fringe division shrink said it came from trust issues. Etta had wanted to laugh in the woman's face. You tried being ripped away from your family when you're four—wait, three—years old and raised by strangers in world run by Invaders and lied to about who you really are. Well, of course she had trust issues. But now she wasn't thinking it could be more than that. Etta liked control and that control was often read as coldness. Maybe it was in her blood. Maybe she'd inherited the trait.

These were things she had neither thought about before. She'd never had anything to compare herself to. She looked so much like her mother; maybe she acted like her too. Etta didn't know what to do with the situation; maybe her mother didn't either.

Besides, it's been a long day for all of them. Her mother probably really did need to rest. They didn't know how much time there would be for things like sleep in the coming days. The Plan was lost, but there would be another one. There had to be.

Etta sighed. She should try to sleep too. She closed her eyes again. It was a useless practice. Etta didn't sleep a lot in a good night when her parents and grandfather weren't in the next room.

The floorboard creaked again and again Etta sat up at find her mother standing the doorway to her bedroom.

"I love you, Henrietta. More than I could ever put into words," Olivia said.

"I know. I love you too, Mom."

"I want to know everything about your life and at the same time I'm scared to hear it. I loved being your mother and I hate that something prevented me from doing that. It hurts. Can we just take it slowly? I need time to try and figure this world out."

"Of course. I've thought about this for so long, but I don't really have any idea what to do."

Olivia moved forward and sat down on the corner of the bed. "In a way, I'm glad to hear you say that. I thought I was the only one. I'm not very good at this kind of thing."

Etta untangled herself from the sheets and scooped closer to Olivia. "Me neither. I think that's the strangest part. For me, at least."

Olivia tilted her head with look that Etta understood to mean she didn't understand.

Etta continued, "I can see myself in you. I have never had that before. Ever. I've never looked like someone or acted like them because of biology. I really am your daughter."

"I knew the second I saw you. There was no one else you could be with that blonde hair and your dad's big eyes."

Etta smiled. She was recognized. Her mom had known her. It was the same question she had asked her dad when the moment had been right. 'Do you know me?' The answer was yes. Her concerns eased. She couldn't even say what she had been worried about, but the knot in her stomach loosened. The tears threatened again.

Etta didn't have to say anything else. Olivia squeezed Etta's arm. The contact felt more natural.

"We really should get some sleep," said Olivia.

Etta nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

Olivia stood back up. She hesitated, then leaned over and kissed Etta on the forehead.

Etta swallowed hard to keep her voice steady. "Good night, Mom."

"Good night, Etta," Olivia answered.

She returned to the living room and her inflatable mattress. Etta didn't move for a long time. Her mind was filled with invented memories. The volumes of stories and images that she had created since she was a child. Going on missions with her parents. Eating dinner with them. Going to visit Walter's lab. Seeing Nina for Saturday breakfast. Every important moment in Etta's life existed in two ways in her mind. The first was the way it actually happened and the second was a created memory where her family was beside her.

Slowly, Etta lay back down. She pulled the sheet over her shoulders and hugged her pillow close. Her mother had just tucked into bed. There was one memory that she didn't have to create. The feeling of safety crept over her again.

It wasn't easy; it would never be easy. There were things that Etta would never be able to get back. Time can't go backwards. But this was the first step. Etta could forget the war for just a moment and a girl who loved her parents and was loved by them. The Observers could not take everything.

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Author's Notes: I'm working on Olivia's version. No beta, so please forgive my mistakes. Comments = love.


	2. Olivia

Author's Notes: Here's Olivia's half even though it seems irrelative after 504. The things that this show puts me through. No beta so please forgive any mistakes. Comments = love.

Disclaimer: These are not my characters; I just play with them. No copyright infringement intended.

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Reflections

Olivia:

There was a small noise. It presented no danger. It was probably just an appliance turning on. But she was in a strange world, sleeping in a strange bed on a strange floor. Olivia jerked awake. And had no idea where she was.

She gulped the strange air as she tried to catch her breath. She couldn't even say what she had been dreaming about, although she could guess. She felt choked by the sheets. She struggled to get them off her. The bed beneath her moved in a strange way. It squeaked louder than whatever had startled her.

Her eyes roved around the unfamiliar room. She found Peter sleeping soundly on the cot a few feet away. It was coming back. She'd been in amber. Peter had found her. Peter had found their daughter. She was in Etta's apartment.

The place was small and barely holding together. Yet, there was the ribbon of the advanced technology that came from the decades since she was last conscious. She couldn't figure out why Etta was forced to live here. The whole neighborhood was barely inhabited. Something horrible had happened here. Olivia was so far behind on her history, but she could feel it in her bones. It felt like shadows or ghosts. The apartment felt like a hide out, not somewhere people actually lived.

Olivia covered her face with her hands and took another deep breath. Her heart still pounded, but at least she was quiet.

She must have fallen asleep as soon as they got back. They'd talked to Walter. They'd had something to eat; not a real something, but enough to satiate. Then, she settled herself on the inflatable mattress to avoid having Peter insist she should have the cot. She must have gone right to sleep. She couldn't remember when the lights were turned off. In fact, she didn't even realize she'd been asleep. That's what caused her confusion.

A little voice in the back of her mind said, 'Yeah right.'

Her confused was caused by running down a street one minute and being blasted against a wall the next over twenty years in the future. Her head was still spinning. Over twenty years.

She focused on the ceiling; there was stain in the corner from water damage probably ten years ago. She focused on the mattress; inflatable mattresses were still the same. She felt the cool air on her damp skin. It's the only way she could think of to stay sane. She had to keep grounded; she had to grip onto the physical reminders of where she was.

Her time in the amber was not like sleeping. There was nothing restful about it. Her mind was active. It wasn't awake, but it played on a loop. A single thought for twenty years. Though, it hadn't felt like twenty years. More like when she fell asleep in the middle of the day. You think you've only just closed your eyes and your mind is still thinking, but then something wakes you up and it's been half and hour. Or twenty-one years.

The floorboards moan under her bare feet as she rolled off the mattress and hurried to the bathroom. She slipped through the door and quickly turned the sink on to hide any sounds. She lifted the toilet seat and dropped to the edge of the clipped ceramic tub. She leaned her elbows on her knees and fought back the wave of nausea. It felt like morning sickness in the way a thought or a smell had trigger it. She'd had horrible morning sickness with Etta.

She was not coping well. She didn't want to cope. She wanted to go back in time and put her toddler to bed and wake up to find Peter had brought her into the bed in the middle of the night. She wanted to pulled Etta's sleeping form closer and kiss her soft cheeks, smell her sweet baby scent. She wanted to take her to her first day of kindergarten and sit in the audience to watch her graduate. She wanted to be there to for every second. She knew it wasn't possible. Just like it wasn't possible to go back and keep her dad alive or keep her mom from married her stepfather or keep Rachel from his anger or keep herself out of the cortexiphan trials or keep the other Olivia from stealing her life or keep the timeline from change for Peter. Back was not an option; she knew that even if she didn't want to accept it.

She didn't know what to think. She knew nothing of this future or, most importantly, who that girl was in the bedroom. She'd seen Etta's face and she'd just known her baby was standing in front of her. She hadn't believed it. The look she had given Peter asked with everything part of her being to tell her the woman standing in front of her was their daughter. She'd had been so sure that Etta had been—well, it didn't matter now. Her daughter was asleep in the next room. She was alive.

Her stomach was settling. She reached over and turned off the sink. It was the amber. She system needed time to adjust. The voice in the back of her head said, 'Yeah right' again.

She could feel the pictures of Etta's life looking down at her from the shelf above the chipped tile. She eased herself off the tub to get a better look at the photos. Etta as a little girl with a dog. Etta with a man and woman, who were presumably her foster parents. Olivia didn't know if she wanted to meet these people and thank them or be angry with them. Probably the latter.

There were months before Olivia ambered herself when Etta could have been found. She'd be alive all that time. Olivia knew she should be grateful to those people for taking in her child, but she couldn't help feeling they were the ones who had stolen her.

It was the third image that Olivia really focused on. Etta standing with another woman with dark hair. It was only a few years old at most. Etta looked the way she did now and that's really what Olivia was interested in. Etta really did look like her. She favored the Bishop side of the family when Olivia had last seen her. She still had Peter's big eyes, but everything else seemed to be a reflection of Olivia. She had the same general face shape, the same nose, the same mouth and, of course, the blonde hair. It was so strange and beautiful to see the woman that little girl had become.

Olivia suddenly needed to see Etta. Not the picture, but with her own eyes. She was still struggling to believe that she was actually here. It was like a sweet dream that she knew was a dream and that any moment she would wake up and have to face reality.

She left the bathroom and carefully crossed to the other side of the apartment. She tried to avoid the loudest floorboards. The door to Etta's room was open. Olivia would just poke her head just to get a glimpse of Etta. She didn't want her daughter to think she was invading her privacy.

She peered around the corner. Etta was sprawled out on her bed with the sheets just covering her legs. She was facing the door. She was too still, like she was holding her breath. Her were squeezed too tightly. Olivia almost smiled. Etta wasn't sleeping.

Olivia just watched her daughter, waiting. Finally, Etta moved. She opened one eye and saw Olivia standing in the doorway.

She sat up a little, wide awake. "Is everything okay?"

"You used to do that when you were little," said Olivia.

"What?"

"Pretend to be asleep. It was usually when you want to be carried in from the car."

Every time they drove home at night around Etta's bedtime, she would squeeze her eyes shut in her car seat and try to keep herself from smiling. Olivia and Peter would pretend to whisper so as not to wake her. They were trying to encourage a little independence that meant not carried Etta as much, it meant letting her do things on her own. But on nights like this when they were coming back from Walter's or Nina's or some other activity, Peter would lift the toddler from her car seat and carry her straight to her bed.

"Do you need anything?" asked Etta, interrupting the thought.

Olivia shook her head, but she wasn't sure Etta could see her in the semi-darkness. She took a few steps into the room, so she could see Etta better. She saw the empty side of Etta's full sized bed and realized she had no intention of leaving.

She moved slowly, unsure of exactly what she was doing or whether Etta would want her there. She lowered herself onto the bed. She cautiously lay down next to her daughter. Etta didn't seem to mind. She flipped over immediately so they were face to face.

Olivia could take in every single one of Etta's features. Even this close the resemblance was uncanny. They weren't identical; they didn't look unbelievably similar. They looked like mother and daughter in the way that you look back at your mom's old pictures and say 'wow, Mom, I really do look like you.' And Olivia had not believed that her baby girl was going to ever get any older. There had been a time when it all seemed lost. To now have her grown daughter looking back at her was more than she could have dreamed of.

Olivia was brought out of her wonder as she realized that Etta's eyes—so like Peter's—were filled with tears. She shut them and two tears spilled over and ran down each cheek.

Before Olivia realized it, she had instinctually started to reach out. She slowed her movement and carefully wiped away the tears with the back of her fingers.

"Look at you," said in the darkness, keeping her voice low. "I want to see you as a child. I want to call you baby girl and tuck you into bed."

Etta almost smiled. "You still can."

"No, I can't because you are all grown up and I am so proud of you."

Olivia must have said something wrong. Etta shut her eyes again and Olivia could tell she was on the verge of tears.

"Don't be sad," she paused, trying to make a decision, and then added, "baby girl."

"I'm not sad. I'm happy. I've wanted this for such a long time," said Etta.

Olivia closed her eyes for a moment unable to face her daughter's admiration. If Etta only knew...Olivia had given up. She didn't know how to tell her daughter that she had believed in her heart that she was dead. She also didn't know how to function on the pedestal that Etta was very quickly building.

She opened her eyes and looked at her daughter once again. "Henrietta, I am so sorry."

"For what?"

"For abandoning you. For letting you grow up alone. For letting you get dragged into all this. For everything. This was my greatest fear; the thought that kept me up at night even while I was pregnant with you."

"Do I wish it had been different? Of course. But it was no way your fault. I never blamed you or Dad. It's them, the Observers. They're the ones who took everything."

Etta seemed to want to shrug it off. She wasn't understanding or maybe didn't want to understand. "It's still my nightmare."

"It doesn't matter now. And besides, I turned out all right. Didn't I?"

"You did," Olivia answered softly.

Etta didn't say anything else. She just looked up at Olivia and Olivia read the trust on her face. They were still. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. She didn't feel the need the space. They just were.

It was late and dark and calm for the first time in hours, days probably. Olivia watched her daughter. Etta was giving in to her tiredness. Olivia couldn't. She was afraid to even move for fear of ruining the moment, of breaking the spell.

Etta might trust her mother, but Olivia didn't trust herself. These moments felt like an indulgence; something that couldn't be afforded in these dangerous times. She had let her guard down that beautiful day in the park and everything had changed. Things would have turned out differently if they had Etta with them.

Peter thought she was strong for going to fight, for going to New York. But she'd been running. She'd been running as hard and as fast in opposite direction, away from the grief, the sadness, the pain, the guilt. She had dabbled with things that weren't meant to be. She had accepted her punishment. She had lost her child.

Motherhood has always been something Olivia wanted. She wanted to be a mom. As she got older, it caused a physical ache in her chest sometimes. That was only one side of herself. The other side was still a kid, was damaged and scared and lashed out. Part of her said she should never inflicted that side of her on a child. Her situation had never seemed to align with becoming a mother or being able to take care of a child.

But it had happened. It hadn't been planned, but there it was. A little life, a little heartbeat thump, thump, thumping inside her. And it was perfect. Well, it was perfect after the morning sickness stopped. Then, it was diapers and sleepless nights and first steps and first words and Etta was this tiny person that Olivia loved so much.

And Olivia missed everything after that. Twenty-one years. She missed birthdays, Christmases, first days of school, first crushes, fighting over curfew, graduations, just seeing her little girl smile.

Although, Etta wasn't a little girl. The proof was lying in front of her. They were connected; they were blood. But Etta was essentially a stranger. She needed to get to know this woman. It suddenly didn't feel right her being her. Etta wasn't a toddler who was fussy in the middle of the night. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Mama, where are you going? You can sleep here. It's better than the floor. I don't care," said Etta, sounding very much like the little girl she'd been when Olivia had last seen her daughter.

Her back was to Etta. "I won't actually get any sleep. I should…" She let the sentence fade away. She didn't really have any idea what she should be doing.

Olivia felt the bed shift again. "Please, don't. Can we just talk? There's so much time to catch up on."

"Tomorrow. I promise. I'm still exhausted." She stood up and turned around so she could see her daughter. "Good night, baby girl."

She moved towards the door.

"Did I do something wrong?" asked Etta, still sounding like a little girl.

Olivia took a deep breath. She was the one who was doing something wrong, not Etta. "No, absolutely not. I just so tired and if I stay in here I'm not going to be able close my eyes because I can't get over how beautiful you are."

She walked away. She had every intention of going back to sleep, but she merely stopped in front of her inflatable mattress. She folded her arms across her chest and stared down at the tangle of blankets. She stood there for a long time and tried very hard not think about anything.

She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't know what she wanted. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She knew that she wanted that day in the park to have ended very differently.

She didn't want to push Etta away; she didn't want to pull away either. This was so confusing. She sighed. The corners of her mouth pulled downward and she felt a few tears welling her eyes. She shook her head; that wasn't going to help. She had so many things she wanted to say to her daughter; she had so many things to ask. She wished she knew how to form the words. She was scared of the answers; she recognized that. She was running again.

Just as suddenly as had risen from the bed, Olivia turned around again. She walked back into Etta's room and stopped short in the doorway.

Etta was flat on her back, but she quickly sat up. She looked ready to jump into action.

"I love you, Henrietta. More than I could ever put into words," Olivia blurted out.

"I know. I love you too, Mom."

"I want to know everything about your life and at the same time I'm scared to hear it. I loved being your mother and I hate that something prevented me from doing that. It hurts. Can we just take it slowly? I need time to try and figure this world out." She did know that's how she felt until the words were coming out of her mouth.

"Of course. I've thought about this for so long, but I don't really have any idea what to do."

Olivia entered the room again and perched on the corner of the bed. "In a way, I'm glad to hear you say that. I thought I was the only one. I'm not very good at this kind of thing."

Etta moved closed. "Me neither. I think that's the strangest part. For me, at least."

Olivia tilted her head and frown. She was about to ask Etta to clarify, but Etta understood the look.

"I can see myself in you," Etta said. "I have never had that before. Ever. I've never looked like someone or acted like them because of biology. I really am your daughter."

"I knew the second I saw you. There was no one else you could be with that blonde hair and your dad's big eyes." Shining tears filled in Etta's eyes again, but she smiled. Olivia continued, "We really should get some sleep."

Etta nodded. Olivia got to her feet again. She leaned over and kissed Etta on the forehead. She knew the gesture was awkward, but the sentiment was all the really mattered.

"Good night, Mom," said her daughter, trying to keep the catch out of her voice.

"Good night, Etta," Olivia answered.

This time when Olivia returned to the living room, she actually lay back down. She was on her back looking up at the ceiling again. She felt a little less heavy. She might not know this grown version of her daughter, but Etta was still her daughter. She could see what she had passed onto Etta; she could see hints of the little girl that she did know.

She still felt wholly inadequate and that Etta's faith was misplaced. But she also felt like there was hardly anything she could do to make the situation worse. Maybe up was the only option, even if Olivia couldn't see the way yet. Maybe she would never see the path. Maybe some of the damage could be repaired. She closed her eyes. Maybe she should worry about it tomorrow.


End file.
